Playing With Fire
by Idrelle Miocovani
Summary: Though House Tethras and House Davri are known enemies, Varric and Bianca are determined to continue their relationship, even if it is in the shadows. When Varric sneaks Bianca into a Merchants' Guild vault so she can research other smith's inventions, one thing quickly leads to another. But who knows who is watching.


**A/N:** Originally, this was written to fill a prompt on tumblr ("back scratches for a pairing you'd like to see more content of") and then all of a sudden that turned into a deep-seated desire to explore Varric and Bianca's relationship as youths. This is part of a larger series of fics I am working on, which explores how they met and how exactly they ended up nearly starting a clan war. The series is called _Not by Fate's Design_ and the full list of fics can be found in my profile.

For context purposes, Varric and Bianca are both 19 years old in this. Rating is for mature language and sexual content.

Thanks for reading! :)

* * *

 **Playing With Fire**

"Oh, shit!"

Her eyes lit up as she peered further into the chamber, one hand lifting her torch higher while the fingers of the other dug sharply into his wrist.

"Shit, shit, shit! By the Ancestors, shit!"

For a kalna girl, she certainly swore a surprising amount. Her Ancestors were probably blushing.

Bianca gasped in exhilaration and let go of his hand, stepping further into the cavernous room and spinning about in awe as she stared at the contents of the vault. Though the vault was technically on the surface, it had been carved from stone with such majesty, it could have been transplanted direct from the Orzammar palace itself. Moonlight streamed in from the rectangular windows placed high in the ceiling, creating angular patches of slivery light on the floor.

As she spun, the torchlight caught the red undertones of her loose hair. With her cloak and dress flared about her shoulders and the expression of flushed rapture on her face, for a moment she looked exactly as she had the night of the Davri masque.

The night they had met.

They had been sixteen, brimming with fresh-faced youth and daring, without a wit or care for the subtle politics and intrigues that imposed themselves upon their lives and their Houses lives. There had been a glance, a touch, a kiss, a revelation—like something out of an Orlesian drama. And then all hell had broken loose and they had been swept up by consequences neither of them could control. House Tethras and House Davri were mortal adversaries, after all. It was unthinkable that a child from one House could ever be reconciled, let alone fall in love, with a child of the other.

They had learned something from the dangerous events that had unfolded in their youth. But they were nineteen now. Older. Wiser.

And still just as daring. Still just as unwilling to let the other go for petty reasons that had nothing to do with them and everything to do with the generations that had come before. Earlier that week, he had sent her a message, proposing that she sneak out of her house (against her parents' express permission), meet him in Lowtown (against his brother's express permission) and, in the dark of the night, break into an old vault (against the Merchants' Guild's express permission). Bianca had enthusiastically agreed.

Though now that they were here and she was completely taken away by her surroundings, it had a feeling it had less to do with him and more to do with the contents of the vault… Apparently, three years wasn't enough time for him to learn his lesson. When it came to a choice between people and technology, Bianca Davri would always choose technology. It was tempting to say most smith girls were like that, but he knew better.

It was just Bianca who was like this.

It was one of the things he appreciated about her—the way she dedicated herself, mind and spirit, to her craft. The way she used that dedication to create something both marvelous and gobsmackingly useful.

Her tinkling laughter echoed around the room.

She had stopped spinning, but her exhilaration had not dimmed.

"Why are you just standing there, you dolt?" she said with a playful grin.

"Dolt?" Varric snorted. "So we're insulting each other now?"

Bianca crossed her hands behind her back. "Only affectionately," she said coyly.

"Aha! The affectionate insult! It must be a sign!"

Without warning, Bianca flew across the chamber and pressed a hand to his lips. "Shhhhh," she said, her brown eyes wide. "Don't say it! You never know who might be watching. Or listening."

He kissed her palm and brushed her hand away. "If anyone _is_ watching or listening, they'll have figured out what's going on by now."

"Oh, good!" Bianca replied swiftly. "Then we have nothing to worry about. Clearly we're just two rambunctious young scions of middling Houses who are trespassing in a vault because our love of engineering can't be stopped by a mountain of paperwork." She arched her eyebrows and kissed him quickly, nipping his bottom lip as she did so. Then she laughed her infectious laugh and darted across the room to examine the assortment of tools, gears and equipment strewn about the vault.

"Will any of this help?" Varric asked, following her as she set the torch in a bracket and settled down between two decommissioned pieces of unrecognizable equipment.

"Oh, anything helps!" Bianca said, running her fingers over a set of tools, her eyes bright with curiosity and an inexhaustible creative energy. "You know what they say—anyone with an ounce of creativity borrows it from their betters. It's called inspiration!"

Varric smiled, leaning against a pillar as he watched her work. She hummed to herself, moving from table to table, examining the pieces and jotting down notes in the tiny journal she always kept on her person. It had been a while since he had seen her this happy, this… _free._ As soon as he had overheard his brother Bartrand speaking of this place with a handful of senior Guild members, he knew he had to bring her here. She needed a place like this, away from the watchful, authoritarian eye of her parents. A place where her ideas could grow, unchecked and unchallenged, spurred on by the inventions of others.

"What do you think they were building here?" Varric asked after a moment. "Why did they lock it away?"

"Hmm…" Bianca tapped her pen along the edge of her journal. "Inventors never want to share their knowledge," she said as she wrote down a note. "Sharing credit isn't exactly in our vocabulary. Some Guild member thought it better to lock it away and protect it, rather than use it." She snorted. "Idiots. Why make it if no one is going to see it? Designs are made to be _used_ , not… stared at." There was an unexpected amount of vitriol in her voice. Varric suspected she wasn't just talking about the inventions hidden away in this vault.

Bianca set down her journal and frowned at the tools displayed before her. She ran her hands over one of them, biting her lower lip as she was lost in thought. "I think this is some kind of lock… Is it rune activated? But what kind of rune? And what are its calibrations…?"

"If that is some kind of fancy lock, I'd be more interested in what it locks up," Varric said, crossing his arms.

"Pirate!" Bianca shot at him. She was unable to contain her grin. "With that attitude, are you sure you don't want to jump on the nearest ship and join the Raiders of the Waking Sea?"

"Not if it means leaving you behind."

The laughter faded from Bianca's face, her eyes widening at the unintended seriousness of his statement. "Varric…"

"You keep me sharp," Varric said quickly, desperately clutching at the humour fleeing the scene. "I wouldn't be able to make half as many clever remarks without you around. You're like my—uh—whetstone. I'd be very… dull… without you."

Bianca's eyes flickered to the edge of the table where, ironically, sat a whetstone. "That's a terrible joke," she said, a pink flush on her cheeks. "You know that's a terrible joke, right?"

"I'm terrible."

"You're terrible."

"Are you affectionately insulting me again?"

"Is there a problem if I am?"

"Only for the spies that are probably watching us right now," Varric said. "Your parents' spies, my brothers' spies, the Guild's spies—"

"There aren't any spies, Varric," Bianca aid. "I had a good look at this building's structure on our way in. The only way someone can hear what we're saying or see what we're doing is if they are in here with us. And I'm fairly certain I remember locking the door."

"Look now," Varric said. "You've ruined my joke."

Bianca's eyes danced. "I have a better idea of how you can put that glib tongue of yours to use."

Varric stepped forwards, catching her hands with his and sweeping her into an embrace. "Do you?"

"Mhm." Bianca moved backwards, bumping into the table. She leaned forwards, her lips fluttering against his, teasing him with a kiss that was not a kiss. "Would you like me to tell you?"

"I think I can remember," he murmured.

"You know I've been waiting for this from the moment we got here," Bianca said, her voice low.

"Hey, you _are_ the one who wanted to look at gears and shit," he growled.

"I _like_ gears and shit—oh, blasted nugs on fire, _just kiss me already!"_

She pulled him in, her hands scraping down his back in fervour as her lips crushed his. Her mouth opened and she let out a trembling sigh of happiness and delirium. Maybe they were being watched, maybe they weren't, it didn't matter now—come what may, their families and the Guild would always do whatever they could to keep them apart. In this moment alone, it was too tempting and too easy to forget that, to block it out, to erase it from the mind. She was here now, with him, and it was all they could do to savour it while it lasted.

Bianca's kiss tasted of fruit and berries. Perhaps it was something she had eaten tonight, perhaps it was always the way she tasted—it was hard to think straight, with her pressing against him, her body's warmth seeking his. She kissed him long and hard, her teeth nipping playfully at his bottom lip—she always found great fun in that, and he always enjoyed it. His hands wrapped around her waist, pressing against the small of her back as her lips left his to press kisses along his jawbone, up to his ear. He knew where she was going and he nearly shivered in anticipation. He felt her breath buzzing in his ear and a moment later, her tongue on his earlobe as she gently nipped and sucked on it.

He shuddered, the tantalizing sensation running down his spine. His fingers scratched up and down her back as his breath quickened, one hand moving further down her back to firmly grasp her rear, wishing desperately that there was no fabric between them. His other hand went to touch the suppleness of her breasts, but met the hard barrier of her corset instead.

That was something that would have to be rectified in due course.

She sighed sumptuously at his touch regardless, perhaps more in anticipation of the things to come than the things she felt in the moment. "Varric…" she murmured against his ear.

"What do you want, love?" he replied, kissing her again, his heart beating rapidly. "What do you want?"

Her fingers brushed his jaw and the day-old stubble that lay there. She snaked a hand around the back of his neck and pulled him in. "Make me feel like I'm on fire," she whispered.

With one swift movement, they connected, her mouth hot against his, their lips already beginning to swell. She gave into him, letting her take her weight and lift her up to settle her on the edge of the table. She broke their kiss once to sweep away the tools that lay behind her. They clattered away onto the floor, no longer important, soon to be forgotten. He seized her skirts and pushed then up so they fanned out across the table. Already, she had hooked her thumbs around her long, ankle-length undergarments and was struggling to wiggle out of them.

"Bloody hell," she grunted. "Blasted things!"

"Need help?" he asked.

She raised an eyebrow. "Is that a serious question?"

"I don't know," he said, resting a hand on her knee. "Should it be?"

Bianca laughed so hard her eyes leaked tears. "Oh my Ancestors!" she exclaimed, falling dramatically backwards so she lay flat on the table with her legs dangling over the edge. "This is ridiculous. From now on, I shall only dress in men's clothes. Why they design ladies' undergarments to be so impossible, I will _never_ know."

"I can think of a reason," Varric said, sliding a hand up her thigh and slowly inching the garment down, peeling it away. "It makes my involvement in your undressing so much more fun."

Bianca sighed. "I suppose it can be, when there's someone else involved—oh!"

Her body froze at the unexpected sensation, her eyes wide, a surprised smile on her lips. Varric grinned at her, one hand slipped between her legs. Her undergarments lay discarded in a crumpled heap on the stone floor.

"Is that better?" he said, rubbing gently.

Bianca's breath rose, her chest heaving. "Yes," she said. "Much, much… um… better. Yes. I—oh!" A moan escaped her and her fingers clenched together in a fist, her loose mane of hair flung tantalizing across the table. Her legs shook as her pleasure grew, her back arching as she fought it, fought it, trying to hang onto the sensation before it overwhelmed her too soon and too quickly.

He bent over her and kissed her nose. "Are you all right?"

"Never… better," she breathed.

"Do you want me to continue?"

She put a hand to his face. "Always."

He winked at her and slid his fingers away. "You said you wanted to be set on fire, didn't you?"

Bianca propped herself up on her elbows. "Figure of speech, Varric," she said. "Figure of speech. Don't tease me about it—I—oh—what— _Ancestors!"_

He had knelt beside the table and pushed her legs apart, kissing along her inner thigh. She trembled at his touch, gasping and shaking at his touch as he ventured further. She ran her hands through his thick hair, over and over, clutching at him as he inched her closer and closer to a climax. He felt a strange kind of pride in his ability to find the spots that aroused her so fully and completely—it was a mesmerizingly sensual kind of experience. She moaned, bucking against him, anticipating that sweet moment where she came and reached the delights she so desperately sought.

"Oh—fuck—Varric—I think— _fuck—_ " She gasped, panting. "Wait! _Wait!"_

"What is it?" he asked, drawing back and rubbing her thighs gently as he looked up at her.

Bianca was struggling to pull off her dress. In her hurry, she had forgotten to loosen the laces and now she was stuck inside, the gown draped over her like a tent.

"Can you…" her muffled voice began, but was lost within the pleats of the fabric.

Varric chuckled. He stood up and yanked the dress over her head, tossing it aside.

"Thank you," Bianca said, her hair now a fuzzy halo around her head. She was sitting in nothing but a corset. She began mindlessly pulling at the laces, but Varric sat down next to her and brushed her hands away.

"Let me," he said.

Bianca turned, offering him her back.

"What were you going to say?" he asked as he unlaced her.

"Oh, just that you're very talented with both your fingers _and_ your tongue," Bianca said, pulling her hair over her shoulder. "But now that I've said that aloud, it sounds less poetic and _far_ less erotic than I imagined in my head."

He laughed and pulled the final lace of her corset free. "Maybe I should be the writer here."

"Maybe." Bianca let the corset fall free and tossed it aside. She patted him on the shoulder. "But that should be a consideration for later. For now, I think we should fuck. Spectacularly."

Varric raised an eyebrow. "Isn't that what we're doing?"

Bianca grinned and pulled off the shift she wore beneath her corset. She was now completely naked, the golden torchlight dancing on her pale, dewy skin. She drew her legs onto the table and crawled across to him and kissed him, far more gently this time as her fingers played with the hem of his tunic. She pulled his tunic off over his head, then ran a hand down his warm chest, her fingers raking through his chest hair. Down and down she went, over taught muscles and the singular scar that ran across his stomach, until she reached the waistband of his trousers. She coyly ran a hand over the hardness there, placing her lips against his ear once more and sucking gently, the very thing she knew drove him wild. An ecstatic shiver ran down his spine and he gasped in surprise as her hand slipped inside his trousers, the friction and warmth a tantalizing delight that made him ache for more.

Her touch, as it had been from the very start, was a craving desire, a passionate fire and a comforting warmth all wrapped into one.

"Bianca," he groaned.

"Yes?" she said smirking.

"You're such a tease," he breathed in her ear.

"So are you," she replied swiftly.

She pulled down his trousers, her hands pressing firmly against his rear as she pulled him onto her. In their rush, they rolled to the side and he banged a nearby gear with his elbow. He winced in pain and a look of concern flashed in her eyes.

"Are you all right?" she asked.

"Fine," he said. He kissed her lips, taking the time to make it long and sensuous. "Never better," he murmured, trailing kisses down her chin to her neck, then to her collarbone. "Never better."

Bianca squirmed beneath him, panting slightly as he kissed her body, harder and harder, nipping at her. He was always careful of the delicateness of her skin. Though Bianca's hands were calloused, she carried her softness in other places. Her neck was off-limits—it had always been off-limits, she never kept it covered and a love-bite there would only lead to trouble. So it was her breasts that received the attention, not that either of them complained. He loved the touch and feel of her breasts, their fullness, their softness, how one was not quite the same size as the other, the little dark mole that sat below her right breast.

She raked her hands up and down his back as he shifted his weight over her, her fingernails scratching his skin. It stung, but it was a good sting. He gazed at her—her eyes were closed, her eyelids fluttering, moaning quietly beneath him as they made love. It took them a moment to find their rhythm together, but when they did, they stayed there, enraptured by each other's touch, each other's warmth, the feeling and comfort of her skin against his.

He desperately hoped having sex on a cold worktable would _not_ hurt her back.

And then—too soon, all too soon—he was gasping, too, and he let out an ecstatic cry and it was over. He kissed her gently and pulled away, but she was still groaning beneath him. His hands gripped her hips and he bent his head once more, licking and sucking as her body trembled, egging her forwards, willingly her to reach that point she had nearly crested so many times this night.

And then her voice shattered in a singular cry, and it was one of the most beautiful things he had heard.

Panting, Varric withdrew and lay down on the table beside her. Bianca's chest heaved up and down, her body damp with sweat. She smiled and chuckled, covering her face with a hand as she shook with laughter.

"I came here to do research and look what happened," she said.

"Can you call it a different kind of research?" Varric asked, rolling onto his side and kissing her shoulder.

"Maybe," Bianca replied, staring up at the ceiling and the moonlight drifting in from the windows far, far above. "I haven't decided which on I prefer. You—or the gears."

They laughed, their tired voices breaking into slow, drawn out gasps for air. Bianca's hand slipped into his.

Far away, a resounding, hollow sound echoed.

Varric froze. "Did you hear that?" he said, sitting up abruptly and staring at the vault's entrance.

"No," Bianca said. "I—oh, shit!"

The echoes were getting louder. It sounded like approaching footsteps. _Many_ approaching footsteps.

Bianca hissed in fear and grabbed her clothes, trying to hastily throw them on without much success. She managed her shift and her underthings, but her corset was impossible to manage at short notice.

"Oh—Andraste's tits—damn it!"

She chucked the corset into the shadows beneath a worktable and grabbed her dress. She pulled it over her head.

"Here—"

"No, I can do it—get your own trousers on—"

"They're already on!"

"Then get your tunic on, I can manage—!"

With a thunderous noise, the vault door burst open, the draft that accompanied it snuffing out their torch. A dozen dwarves in Tethras colours flooded in with lanterns and weapons drawn. They marched over to Varric and Bianca, who tried their best not to look too guilty in their partially undressed state.

In the centre of the squad stood a familiar, scowling figure.

"Well, shit," Varric said. "Hello, Bartrand. How are you?"

His brother's expression darkened. "I was doing well until I learned my younger idiot of a brother decided to break into a Guild vault to fuck a Davri girl."

"Hey!" Bianca snapped. "I'm a smith. An engineer. I was here to research. You've got a lot of nerve locking all this away—"

"You've got a lot of nerve listening to the honeyed words my useless brother spins," Bartrand snapped. His eyes flickered over her partially dressed figure, at the loosened laces of her dress and the cleavage that showed through. "Or have you decided to slander your family name and become his whore?"

"Bartrand!" Varric yelled. "Leave her alone. Bianca's done nothing wrong. Neither have I, for that matter—"

"Except for the minor trespassing," Bianca interrupted.

"Except for the trespassing," Varric agreed.

"For which we're very sorry," Bianca added.

"And for which I duly apologize," Varric said. "But if I can explain—"

"I don't need to hear your apologies," Bartrand hissed. "They stink of lies and deceit." His eyes burned with anger as he looked from Varric to Bianca and back again. "Is this is the kind of apology we will get when your antics start a clan war?" he intoned, pulling Varric aside into the shadows. "It doesn't matter what feelings you have for her, it ends tonight. House Davri has made their position on the matter clear. You are _not_ to involve yourself with their daughter. You are fortunate that is it I who found you tonight, fort if it they had discovered you, you would both be dead." Bartrand glanced at Bianca. "Someone get her out of here."

A guard took Bianca by the arm and ushered her away. She uttered no words of protest, but her eyes screamed in defiance. She glanced at Varric as she was pulled away, an unvoiced apology on her lips—and then she disappeared into the darkness beyond the door.

Anger boiled in Varric's chest.

"This is _idiotic,"_ he said, turning on Bartrand. "This isn't the way it was three years ago. We are no longer children, we can make our own decisions. How can you—"

"How can I?" Bartrand laughed hollowly. "I don't do this because I have some deep-seated desire to see you unhappy, brother. Quite the contrary, though I know how difficult that is for you to believe. I do it because this is _politics._ And politics are power. You better wrap your mind around it before you end up dead in a ditch."

As Bartrand turned and marched away accompanied by his guard, a cloud passed over the moon, blocking out the light from above. With no torch and no moonlight, Varric was left alone to stand in the shadows of the now stone-cold vault, anger and resentment simmering in his heart.

 _Maker_ and _Ancestors damn you, Bartrand. No one suspected, except for you. Why couldn't you have let us be?_

This was far from over.

He swore it.


End file.
